Reqiuem for a Soldier: Part One: Normandy
by Steel Falcon
Summary: Part one of the RfaS Trilogy. P1 focuses on Normandy and the invasion of France following the missions of 3rd Squad, Fox Company, 2nd Ranger Division.
1. Shore Party

Water sloshed up all around the sides of the boat as it careened and crashed through the rough currents of the English Channel.  The boys of 2nd Ranger Battalion stood inside each craft trying their best to see what was ahead.  From time to time one of them would keel over and hurl onto the already dirty floor.  While none of them wanted to be standing in the filth, it was better than what lay ahead.  They had been in the boats for almost an hour now and the sound of exploding artillery shells began to fill their ears.  Splashes from the shells hitting the ocean nearby came next, followed by the rocking of the boats.  It was almost time…

BOOM!

The boats rocked hectically in the water.  The craft carrying 1st Squad, Fox Company was a ball of flame sinking slowly down into the Channel.  The water around the men exploded in huge showers.  The artillery from the beach had finally reached the landing party.  The men gripped their guns tighter.  Finally, the drivers began to relay commands.

"Clear the ramp!  One minute!"

The men backed away from the launch ramps while the ramp operators stepped up to the wheel.  The driver shouted out when it was thirty seconds to go, fifteen, ten, and then…

With a loud ratchet sound, the doors of the landing craft dropped to the shallow water of Omaha Beach.  Instantly, the MG-42s opened fire.  Men couldn't even take a step before they were knocked back by a hail of bullets.  Some began clambering over the side of the boats to try to get out of the way.  More artillery began hitting the shallows, sending whole ships flying through the air.  And charging out of 3rd Squad, Fox Company's boat was Lt. Miller.  Just barely escaping the MG-42s, he had dived up next to one of the tank traps littering the entrance to the beach.  All the gun fire was diverted from him and for a moment he had peace.  But it wouldn't last long.  His squad eventually made it to his side and looked at him with those eyes, that look that shows horror and innocence, that look that begs for authority.  Miller was scared, too.

"Ok men," he yelled over the battle noise, "We need to make it up to the shingle."  He pointed at a large sand hill lining the edge of the beach.  "If we get over that we can fight our way to the top of the cliff and take out those MG-42s.  We have to make way for the tanks, so we have to move now!  Clear?"

"Yes sir!" his squad yelled back.

"Ok, let's move out."


	2. Charge Number One

Lt. Miller looked around the tank trap that was offering him slight cover to only be met with yet another hail of gunfire.  It wouldn't be easy to move up the beach with so much firepower directed at the shore party.  Miller needed to silence the MG-42s for a few seconds to move up to the next line of defenses.

            "Johansen!  Malarkey!  Get up here!" Miller yelled out to his squad.  Two men carrying BARs trotted up next to him.  "Smith, you too!"  Another man with a sniper rifle in hand joined the group.

            "Sir?" they asked in unison.

            "We need to get some suppression fire on those guns so that we can move the men up the beach…"  An artillery shell blasted the sand a few feat away, sending a helpless soldier flying into the air.  "I want Johansen and Malarkey taking up spots on those traps," he pointed to two tank traps flanking their current position, "and Smith right here," he tapped the trap he was up against.  "On my command, Johansen and Malarkey will open fire on any of the nests that are still firing.  Smith, you pick off any you can see from here.  When we're up the beach, I'll give you another signal to open fire again.  Once we are up on the shingle, we provide cover so you can reach us.  Got it?"

            "Yes sir," Malarkey nodded at Miller.

            "Roger sir," Johansen said, staring blankly up the beach.

            "Will do, sir," Smith said, who was already lining up his first shot.

            "Ok then, get ready…" Miller barked at them, relaying the commands to the rest of the squad.

            "…NOW!"

            The sound of automatic gunfire filled the men's ears as they clambered up and charged across the open sand.  The sound of Smith's rifle echoed with each shot.  Artillery shells started exploding all around them.  All hell was breaking loose.

            Miller reached the second trap line first.  He looked back to see his squad nearing his position.  One of the MG-42s opened fire for a few seconds before Malarkey began shooting at it, but he was too late.  Private Simmons dived headfirst onto the beach, a pool of blood forming around him.  The squad medic, Pvt. Bueller or "Doc" to the men, bent down for a second at Simmons body before shaking his head and continuing his sprint to the defensive line.  When the squad members that had survived made it to the line, Miller looked back towards Malarkey, Johansen, and Smith.

            "NOW!"


	3. Charge Number Two: The Shingle

            Miller yet again was first to run up the beach.  The sound of Smith's rifle was still the loudest sound ringing in his ears, next to the unbearable silence after an artillery round or mine went off nearby.  Malarkey and Johansen's BARs were not as loud as before.  In fact, it sounded as though only one was firing.  When Miller reached the shingle, he turned back and looked at their position, and he was right, only one BAR was shooting.

            Malarkey lay doubled over one of the arms of the tank trap he was using as cover, his gun lying at his side.  A trail of blood was going from his mid-section all the way back to the ocean.  Johansen was moving and shooting at the same time, trying to make it over to his friend's body.  Smith wasn't letting up, for now most of the covering fire was in his hands.  But he couldn't handle it alone, especially not with one sniper rifle.  The MG-42s came back to life.  There was a loud series of clangs and pings and sand flying up in the air around Smith's firing spot.  When the dust settled, Smith was laying face down, his rifle split in two.  Johansen realized too late.  He stopped at Malarkey's body and raised his gun, desperately trying to regain control of the situation.  But with a loud whistle and a deafening boom, all that was left of Johansen was a smoldering crater left by a German artillery battery.

            The rest of 3rd Squad leapt down onto the shingle, with Doc following shortly after.  Even under the circumstances they had managed to only lose two others, both riflemen.  Miller couldn't worry about that now.  He had to get through the shingle.  The sand was extremely thick, so digging was out of the question, and the barbed wire was too far back to be cut; you'd be shot before you finished.  They would need those bangalores.

            "Ramsey!  DeFort!   Gellar!  Bring up the bangalores!" Miller shouted down the line.  The three privates scrambled to their feat and brought the explosive-packed tubes over to Miller, who started passing them down the line.  One by one the tubes were lowered over the shingle.

            "Bangalores in place, sir!" Sergeant Powell yelled from the other side of the line.

            "Alright, then.  Fire in the hole!" Miller barked, lit his fuse, and ducked down behind the shingle.

            "Fire in the hole!" Powell shouted soon after, lighting and ducking, too.

            In a few seconds, a series of resounding booms filled the men's ears.  When it settled, Miller looked over the wall.  _Perfect_, he thought.

            "Alright men!  Defilade, other side of the hole!  Move!" Miller said to his men as he leapt clambered over the top of what was left of the shingle.


End file.
